Parallax
by Puppet in the Corner
Summary: Vergil's had a rough day. Waking up in Hell after throwing oneself off a cliff to escape one's annoying twin, triggering a genetic quirk designed to keep demonic bloodlines going, and falling prey to the same ownership laws that Devil Arms follow can do that to you. Mostly, he's just pissed Daddy dearest never explained THIS during the "birds and the bees" talk. Genderswap.
1. First breath after coma

**Title: **Parallax

**Summary: **Vergil's had a rough day. Waking up in Hell after throwing oneself off a cliff to escape one's annoying twin, accidentally triggering a genetic quirk designed to keep demonic bloodlines going, and falling prey to the same ownership laws that Devil Arms follow can do that to you. Mostly, though, he's just pissed that Daddy dearest never explained THIS during the "birds and the bees" talk. Yeah.

Alternatively known as

The dumbest "origin of Nero" story EVER.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own 'em. You know how it is.

BORING SHIT PROBABLY NO ONE CARES ABOUT **Notes: **Am I seriously going to write this? Yeah, okay, here we go.

This was mostly born out... uh... Well, Capcom revealed that Nero _is _Vergil's weird demon baby, but they never explained _how (_well, okay, we know the basics of _how_ but WHATEVER)_._ I'm going to take a more roundabout (re: stupid, utterly implausible, and incredibly self-indulgent) route. A more... _family _oriented route. And then the story kind of had a mind of its own and ran off on me. Ehhhhh.

**Warnings: **I haven't written fanfiction in _years. _That should be warning enough. For the _real _warnings... **Genderswap **(also pregnancy, and what some people might see as technical m-preg), some **dub-con**, general **weirdness**, odd demon tradition world building (because lets face it; you can make whatever shit up you want for a series this vague about demon habits), attempts to remain **_somewhat _canon** but veering _WAY _off, so on that note this becomes a divergent **AU**. Uh... family fluff later on because I'm a huge sap. Probable **ooc**, though that shall remain to be seen. Some **OCs, **though they're mostly here out of necessity and some minor self-indulgence (_babiessss yeee). _Possible **alternative character interpretation **for some people. Also, serious parenthesis abuse (I CAN'T HELP IT).

**Pairings: **As much as I love slash, twincest, and all that weirdo goodness that is associated with Devil May Cry, the romance here is not the focus. There will be some background pairings, general fondness, and some weird retroactive slash, but no incest. This is more about fluffy weird demon familial relationships, Dante and Vergil struggling with emotional constipation over how to be a family, and Nero being an adorable little punk who finds himself in crap tons of trouble. Yeah, okay, whatever.

Also **SUPER SKEWED TIMELINE.**This starts immediately after the end of DMC3 → 4-5 years to DMC1 → _13_ years to DMC4, with the idea of Vergil and Dante being 17-18 at the end of DMC3. I'll settle this timeline later on if anyone is (even more) confused.

This chapter starts us off with an OC who will hang around until chapter 3, so bear with me for that pls orz

AND ON WITH THE FIC, I'VE BABBLED ENOUGH.

* * *

Chapter One: First breath after coma

* * *

_Did you resent her for being human, and therefor weak in your eyes? ...Or did you resent her for being weak, because of her humanity? _

_The two weren't mutually exclusive, you know._

Vergil wakes up in Hell.

That in of itself is not terribly unusual, considering he willingly jumped in, but what _is_ unusual is that he still feels... moderately alive. As in, breathing, though not very well; each breath draws a wet rasp from his lungs, and he feels something punctured... somewhere. 'Moderately' is also perhaps a stretch; he can feel the utter mess that are his internal organs attempting to reorient themselves into their correct positions, hopefully where they actually belong. He remembers with a grim thought of bones that healed wrong and had to be broken again, but bones are much more manageable than organs, and he'd really rather not have to dig around in his own chest cavity to make sure everything is place.

It takes a few hours of useless crawling (not being fully attached to his lower body hampered that plan of attack rather quickly) for Vergil to realize that no, he is _not_ imprisoned anywhere he immediately recognizes, but that he's in what looks to be some sort of forested area, with thick, heavy trees reaching upwards towards a pleasantly bloody looking sky. It's hard to tell, as demonic plants are mostly unrecognizable in comparison to those found in the human world, but if he had to guess, it looked more woodland than tropical. He'd still do well to avoid touching anything colorful. Or dull.

Really, he's going to go out of his way to not touch anything but the ashy dirt that he's lying in, and even that's wholly questionable.

Whether it's night or day is a completely different question, the bloodstained sky giving an atmosphere of everlasting twilight. He knows better, however; that some places in the demon world are pitch black, others the brightest brights, and none are more telling of their predispositions than the creatures that dwell in their depths. He's brought out of his momentary reverie by the harsh ache of his joints as they reform, suddenly reminded of how he ended up in this state.

Getting horribly thrashed by the Demon Emperor/Lord/Prince Mundus or whatever it is that he's calling himself these days would leave one thinking 'moderately alive' is a plus in the grand scheme of things, but as Vergil is still struggling to make sure his intestines are _inside_ his body, he's going to abstain from making any further comments on how _lucky _he really is at the moment. Especially since the last thing he remembers after getting torn apart is being thrown off _another _cliff (this time _not on purpose)_ and into a bloody ravine, and he's still not sure if all his body parts are still there.

It feels not unlike perhaps a slimy worm is moving around his insides, he thinks, rearranging things at leisure, and the half-demon is struck by the thought that Mundus might have shoved something _into _him that would be most... undesirable. To fester, and grow, and slowly kill off the son of his most hated traitor and enemy... It would explain how he had been able to escape much better, considering that he'd essentially handed himself on a platter to the Demon Emperor. However, a few more moments of squelching discomfort (this was _disgusting, _how on earth did Dante deal with this on a more regular basis_)_ later, things seem to snap together; the feeling begotten from a particularly grievous wound completely healing over is a great relief and an old friend all at once.

(Except that Vergil doesn't _have _any friends, but he's not going to argue semantics over here now that his body is, for the most part, in one piece again.)

He tries gathering himself up, and hears the familiar _clink_ of the chain that remains a thankfully heavy – and grounding – weight around his neck. It had been half buried until he'd dragged himself from his original waking spot, and covered in black, charred earth. He frowns, and with one hand supporting himself, he uses the other to brush the disgusting remains of the forest floor off from it. Momentarily a glimmer passes through the large red gem in the center of the amulet, and he catches himself gazing at it for a moment longer than necessary.

_No one can have this._

Such a childish sentiment, he thought back. Defeated by his own hubris.

Still, if he's feeling up to snuff enough to be sarcastic with himself, he figures standing up shouldn't be so hard. Reigning in his fingers (also very thankfully all there), he braces himself in the dirt and attempts to push his battered body up.

One face-plant into frankly _vile _dirt that Vergil is now 90% certain is charred, leftover husks of lesser demons later, the blue clad devil realizes something rather alarming. Aside from the fact that standing is incredibly difficult for the time being, that is.

Yamato is gone.

A cold shiver runs down his spine, and he wracks his brain, trying to remember the feeling of it leaving his fingers. Like a phantom limb he reaches again for what's no longer there, trying to rise faster and see if it fell from his grasp sometime during his escape.

The memory returns to him after his brain stalls for a few tremulous moments, unbidden, but it is not at all what he hoped for. The sharp _snap _of the blade echoes through his mind, as well as the cruel laughter that followed. Mundus, shattering Yamato, and throwing him away like garbage. Unneeded.

"_Is this truly what has become of the spawn of Sparda? Is this truly what lay before me?"_

_Useless._

The image of three glowing red orbs in the dark sky flit through his skull, surrounded by a whirling vortex of black mist. He lost. He lost _badly._ Bad enough being defeated by Dante – and for some odd reason there's a pang that beats through his heart, but he ignores it – but to be _thrice _defeated and then humiliated even further by the one being that Sparda stood against for the sake of humanity...

_Failure._

He'd allowed Mundus to take one of the last things he'd had to himself. The amulet clenched in his fist weakly is a sour reminder of what he's missing, now with Yamato gone and Force Edge in Dante's possession.

He'd lost the proof of his demon lineage, and was left with the admonishing of his humanity. Silence fills him, followed by anger with himself for such weakness, and in one shaky motion, he lets out a howl filled with frustration and hopelessness, whatever energy gained previously now lost. The darker parts of him that beckon to his devil trigger seemingly go mad from the revelation, clamoring from deep within him. Rage turns to despair, and there's something within him that feels as though it is breaking, piece of piece, part by wretched part.

Something has to give.

A gibbering murmur in his mind turns to a nonsensical whisper, and that raises before becoming a cacophony of shrieking, screaming at him in the demon language. He's never seen his _devil _side as a separate entity, embracing it since it awakened within himself, but now it feels as though it's ripped itself from him and is speaking directly _to_ him rather than just operating on pure instinct.

_Must change-_

Devil Trigger? He can't even garner up the _strength _for a weak transformation, let alone a full on change. Darkness swirls around his vision, and he-

_-find find find nestmate-_

Did it mean Dante? He vaguely remembers their father using terms such as that to describe them in their youth, even after they'd well left infancy. Though, mutely, he supposed that to a devil as aged as Sparda, they would always be _infants._

_-nestmate gone? Gone gone gone find mate find protector-_

It all comes in a flurry, with quick, halting words spoken in the devil's tongue, brimming with vibrant rage, and the darkness crowds himself before pulling the void up to meet him.

His last thoughts are chaotic, frantic wisps of cognition that float away as consciousness leaves him.

_-new mate new new will be here soon-_

* * *

Vergil doesn't know how long he spends flitting in and out of awareness. He can't see, nor can he move, but there are things he can feel, other senses he can utilize; demons, possibly, moving about, but none seem concerned with him. It's as if there's a heavy, immovable weight upon every portion of his body, submerging him beneath an odd but not not entirely unpleasant cascading warmth. There's a level of constriction involved, making him well aware he can't move, but it's calming for once and the feeling is not overtly hostile.

It feels as though he's floating, but he can't be bothered to feel terribly upset because everything just feels _so nice_ for the time being. There's a distinct feeling of something _pulling _him from his center of gravity... but the pull moves from his chest to his lower body, and he doesn't even have time to think of how _odd_ that is.

There's a muted noise in the distance of this odd space; it sounds as if it's meant to be comforting, and then he knows no more.

* * *

Vergil awakens to bits and pieces of a conversation that he has a feeling is about him, but what's surprising is the soft warmth he finds himself cradled in. They're speaking in the devil's tongue, hissing words and guttural growls filtering in around him.

"-'ll be awake soon. I cannot _believe _your audacity, you know _who this is, don't you?_"

"Then go. I shall handle it."

"Fine. I shall heartily hope you enjoy explaining _this."_

He shifts, still not having opened his eyes, fingers curling weakly around soft fabric as the half demon attempts to calm his breathing. The demons – because what else could they be – don't seem to notice the slight movement from wherever he's situated. If he had to guess, he's in a bed (not chained, or imprisoned...), and the two voices are arguing several feet away. One voice is much deeper, as though filled gravel, the warble of Hell's creatures resonating like hell fire. Heavy steps echo as the more angered of the two stomps about, lowering in volume as they make to leave

"-put all this effort into reviving a useless Devil Arm for what, some sense of sympathy towards the-" and this next word is spoken with such vehement hatred that Vergil is slightly impressed, "-_traitor's spawn? _Whatever _uses_ this one has could be fulfilled by much better candidates, brother."

"_Berial. _I appreciate your concern, but you are still within my territory and my bounds. Return to your _fire hell _that you are so _fond _of reminding us that you have conquered, and leave me to make my own decisions. Now go, you're charring the carpet." The other voice is firm, and one of them hisses something inaudible in response.

They snip at one another for a few more moments that reminds Vergil of his own bickering with Dante in their youth, before the heavier steps fade off and the sound of door being opened and slammed is heard.

A sigh escapes the one left. Vergil twists from within his soft prison while slowly opening his eyes, trying to gauge where the demon is. His vision meets nothing, and, while his heart is grasped in momentary panic, he realizes that there's... just a blanket covering him.

A low chuckle is heard then. He freezes.

"I know you've awakened, kin of Sparda." Shockingly, this is spoken in the human tongue rather than the guttural growling of demon-speak, perhaps in some ill-mannered attempt to seem amiable. That's a new one, Vergil muses, something much kinder than most things to be said of one related to their father and his reputation. The half-demon finds his fists clenching as he hears footsteps – much softer, near silent – draw nearer. If there's a fight drawing closer, he's woefully unprepared, both weaponless and unaware of just who his enemy is.

" I was worried that the spell would not work as hoped... I'd been saving those red orbs for a... special occasion, and I figured resurrecting a powerful being such as yourself would be worth my while. Those going through such a change can be so fragile at times."

Before Vergil has time to truly ponder on those words, the blanket shielding him from the rest of the world is suddenly (_gently)_ pulled down, and tense blue orbs meet crimson ones.

* * *

The devil that (saved? Resurrected?) found him could perhaps be classified as handsome in the case of demons. He (and it is male, indeed) is more human shaped than most, covered in slick obsidian scales with deep violet and gold accents scattered in patterns that arc over a tall, sturdy body. There seems to be a division of where flesh that is covered by not scales is instead encased beneath a lithe armored hide, neither heavy nor cumbersome in appearance, but fearsome and decidedly not feeble looking all the same. The devil's horns seem closer in appearance to large triangular ears that are flattened against his skull and pointed back, and for a moment Vergil is vaguely reminded of the former Guardian of Ice that dwelled at entrance of the Temen-ni-Gru with the way they slightly twitch every so often.

What's most astonishing however is the expression upon his face; no sneer nor smirk in sight, merely a bland, contented smile that Vergil would more equate with someone sitting at the park on a pleasant day. While the demon's face does bring forth memories of both his and Dante's adolescent devil triggers, this is obviously an elder devil who has long since left the nestling stage. A smaller form, then, likely not the true form and instead kept as a low energy alternative.

None of this still explains _what _exactly Vergil is doing here and why he's not currently being flayed alive. He swallows, trying to gather his voice without sounding as though he hasn't a clue of what's going on.

"Who are you?" Is that _really _what he sounds like right now? How long has been he unconscious? He mentally shakes off the surprise, setting it aside for the moment as he continues glaring at the demon.

The obsidian devil quirks a grin that is not entirely awful, with a slight show of sharp teeth; most demons who attempt decidedly human shows of emotion come across as horribly mocking (Vergil _would_ know), if not terrifying, as their grotesque maws are not always built to twist into human expressions. But this one seems practiced with the notion, and, offhandedly, Vergil thinks of his father, who fought so hard to appear human and not out of place next to his wife. He's not sure why this devil in particular has any business reminding him of Sparda, and he's suddenly angered for reasons he can't immediately identify.

"My name is Marchosias, of the Crimson Depths. You are within the walls of my domain. You may call me Marco if you so choose." The now named Marchosias freely offers, something which Vergil instantly finds rather suspicious.

Really. A devil named _Marco_? Of all the idiotic... But Marchosias (he _refuses_ to call this demon by some blithering _pet name)_ continues on, unbidden by what Vergil had _hoped_ was an unnerving stare.

"The blundering behemoth you heard blustering about was my elder nestmate, Berial. He's a tad... proud, and rather daft... but he's an honorable sort." Oh for... he sounds almost _embarrassed._ This is how Vergil would defend _Dante_ if he ever felt like doing so. Not that he _would_, but...

Vergil continues staring_, _utterly perplexed. Is this really what demons in the demon world are like? Perpetually embarrassed over sibling idiocy? Perhaps they're not too far off from the human world than previously assumed...

Seeing his expression, Marchosias seems to realize how _lost_ the blue devil is, tilting his head slightly.

"You're probably wondering why you're here and not lying dead, tangled within the roots of an Ash-Blood Tree."

He says it so matter of fact that Vergil almost has hard time taking him seriously. Ash-Blood Tree. In a forest where the ground is made of charred remains. Somehow, he is completely unsurprised.

However, thoughts racing, he decides to play along for now until an opportunity arises to escape. Marchosias hasn't made any untoward moves, yet, but there's no need to fight if this moron is going to continue babbling and a better chance might come by later. Instead, he inclines his head slightly, both as a way to avoid speaking and for the other devil to continue. Marchosias does so almost _gleefully, _suddenly drawing himself up to his full height (which, okay, fine, was indeed rather tall).

"So... there I was, prowling through the forest," Vergil can't help but roll his eyes at the attempts at drama, "When I heard a most curious sound..." At this, he leans forward ever so slightly, and Vergil pushes himself further back into the soft confines of the bed, still pointedly glaring. This demon is not nearly as vile as most others he's met, but he's still _weird._

" A cry filled with such pain, echoing through the trees. Then... a sudden flush of power so strong that it knocked down dozens of Ash-Blood trees – which, by the way, congratulations, those trees are _terribly _sturdy – and sent even some bottom feeders scurrying off. When I finally found my way to center of this oddity, I found a most delightful demoness hissing and spitting about at every demon that came near her. You were quite loud, and those that didn't flee were drawn rather quickly to you-" Wait, wait, _wait-_

"_What."_

Marchosias raised an aristocratic brow. "Well, what did you expect, giving off such a show of power directly after going through protandry-"

He was cut off by Vergil surging forward and grasping the smooth, bony protrusions around his clavicles, weak as the grip was.

"_Demoness?"_ He hisses, and Marchosias suddenly stills, something akin to understanding dawning in those ruby orbs.

Suddenly, Vergil felt strong hands upon his shoulders; a foreign feeling, but strangely enough, not entirely unwelcome.

"You haven't looked at yourself recently, have you, my dear?" He was going to get in a parting shot for that endearment later, he promised himself, but quite frankly, he didn't _want _to look at himself if he what he guessed was true. Morbid curiosity won out, however, and he peered down at his (belatedly realizing he was nude) body.

Oh.

Hmm.

_Oh._

"_Fuck."_ She said.

* * *

End Chapter One

Crit is always welcome! Dante will show up within the next few chapters.


	2. An Ugly Fact of Life

To those of you who reviewed, seriously, THANK YOU! I really appreciate you guys taking the time to write them and it really means a lot to me, because I was really nervous about posting this after not having written fanfiction in years :)

To everyone else, reviews keep me young!

Bear with me for a moment and let me hop up on my soap box here for a moment on the genderswapping: It's one of those things that I really enjoy for fun's sake, but a lot of the time it's not pulled off all that well and what you get isn't really a genderswapped version of the character but a mary sue insert (in the case of fanfiction) or a super sexified goddess (in the case of fanart) where I can't even recognize the character anymore. That's okay if you like that! Not bashing anybody but I wanted to try and do this in a... well, it's obviously not _realistic _but I wanted to have a little fun... at Vergil's expense.

And on the subject of **ocs:** I had a seriously hard time deciding what to do later with the inclusion of certain original characters that show up in several chapters; do I cut them out and keep my oc count down, but by doing so cut out some rather important plot events that rely on them being there, or do I include them and deal with the fallout? I'm still terribly iffy on the matter, because this isn't supposed to be able to fit perfectly into canon but diverge off after DMC3, but oh well, we'll see.

If you like Marco, d'aww, thanks, but if the opposite, fear not, because he won't be around for a while after the next chapter.

**Summary for this chapter: **Vergil gets a crash course in demon biology, makes a deal with a gentlemanly devil, and plays Persephone for a time.

**Warnings for this chapter: **What could be construed as incesty undertones, attempts to make sense of how Devil Arms work, and complete hand-waving of demon biology. There will be some sexiness happening in later chapters. Take note of the rating, peeps.

And to reiterate: There will be **no **VergilxDante pairing here. Sorry guys!

* * *

Chapter 2: An Ugly Fact of Life

* * *

Several hours of hissing, scratching, and one poorly timed devil trigger later found them sitting in the remains of the bed chambers. Remains, because, well, there wasn't much left of the bed; Marchosias had gathered up some chairs from god knows where and they were both occupied. Thankfully, he'd also procured a warm, dark cloak that would serve temporarily as clothing; Vergil had pulled the cloak tight as if to use it as a shield from prying eyes, and though it was pitiful safeguard, it did allot some sort of ill gained comfort.

Quite frankly, Vergil was rather impressed they were having such a civil conversation while sitting in a decorative war zone. There was a piece of couch fluff on her shoulder that she brushed off idly, taking note of all the large plush feathers that were likely the innards of poor pillows caught in the crossfire lying on the floor. Which tangentially brought them back to the question at hand.

"So, what you're telling me is that _all _demons can do this?"

"Not _all_; mostly just the species wherein nestlings are born in pairs. It's a mechanism that is meant to ensure the continuation of the bloodline. One twin goes through whichever change would be more beneficial; demon to demoness, and vice-versa. Lower level demons don't usually operate this way... territories would be overrun with bottom feeders if left unchecked... I do believe there are in fact creatures in the world of man that are also capable of this."

Yes, there are, and yes, Vergil has heard of them, but they're also fucking _fish._

On that note, Marchosias was far too helpful for someone who had simply just 'been in the neighborhood', and there was no way his intentions were entirely pure. Now that she was more... aware of the situation at hand, it-

She. Vergil took a deep breath. Then another.

Fuck.

What an utter cluster fuck this was. In a far away part of her brain, she thinks that she's perhaps taking this a little _too _well (_it's just really terrible biology; see, you're already so accepting of it)_, but ignores it in favor of silently freaking out a little more. Oh, if _Dante _were to find out about this...

Instead of hyperventilating (which would have just been _fantastic)_, she went with another question.

"So why _now? _Please don't tell me this is some sort of devil puberty thing, because _human _puberty was horrendous enough." And what a _nightmare _that had been. Puberty, bad enough for regular human beings. But puberty, with all the heightened hormones doubled with super strength and speed? Between the two of them, Vergil was unsure of how they'd come out of it not traumatized for life.

"It's triggered by a number of things; readiness to breed, fertility, whether or not there's a significant enough danger at the time, shows of strength from a prospective mate..." He trailed off, eyeing her, a thoughtful look plaguing his features. He remained quiet for a moment, as if contemplating her, before speaking again, as though choosing his words carefully.

"Your twin... Would you say he is stronger than you? Would you say that... he would make a good mate? You know that demons do not function upon the same social taboos that humans do."

Vergil instinctively wanted to deny it on all accounts, but there was... something staying her hand. She would only realize what it was much later.

The truth.

_He defeated me three times. We beat each other bloody and nearly to death. He stopped me from achieving my goals._

Part of her doesn't want to admit what a mistake that was, being so _easily _manipulated...

_He didn't let me do it. He tried to come after me. I resented him for being too human. He still defeated me._

A shaky breath escapes her, and the way Marchosias eyes her twisting and twitching hands lets her know that he caught it as well.

_He's strong. He would protect me if I needed it._

_We fought, and I'd never felt more alive._

Double fuck.

* * *

Yet another smaller scale, more internalized freak out later, Vergil decided that it was just biology and _no, _she didn't want to screw Dante's brains out (_good lord)_. At any rate, she'd also decided that this was all Dante's fault and that the next time she saw him, he was receiving a swift kick in the balls. And his face. If she ever saw him again, that is. Also, if their father ever magically came back from the dead, he was also getting quite the lecture on _why _it was so crucial to tell ones nestlings about any and all genetic quirks and oddities that may manifest during their lifetimes, because freakish demon biology or not, this was _not okay _to wake up to.

She didn't want to think of what Eva would say. Probably something about grandchildren and- _no she was not going down that particular road right now._

Alright. Perfect. Good plan.

Which brought her to back to yet another query that had been pushed to the back of mind in the previous discussion.

"Why am I here? You've been nothing but..." She didn't want to say _kind_ because demons were odd and took offense to that sort of thing, but she was _polite_, dammit, and mother had raised her with manners, even if those lessons hadn't seemed to make quite the same impact on Dante. Marchosias seemed to take some amusement in her floundering, but offered nothing in turn, and she nearly hissed back in response but caught herself. Stupid demon customs.

"...gentlemanly... towards me." She finished lamely. There was some angle he had to be playing at, because demons just didn't _do_ this, but they were still literal creatures by nature and were not known to lie. At least not without just cause. Though Marchosias seemed well versed in human rhetoric, she had no reason _not_ to believe him. As demons were notoriously awful liars (memories of Sparda attempting to make atrocious white lies that _no, he didn't eat the last of the pie_ that Eva _never _believed came to mind), they were also usually quite bad at pretending to be something they weren't. Being only half-demon had done wonders for their fibbing when the twins had been younger, she thought idly. In turn, that had just made Eva all the more fit to discern their lies from their truths.

This didn't mean that demons were _good _because they were truthful, though. It just meant that instead of being stabbed in the back, you'd be run through from the front. You'd always see it coming.

But that still didn't explain why Vergil wasn't shacked and destined to be a brood mare for some demon lord, instead sitting and chatting almost... amiably with the master of the territory. Said master of the territory looked almost regal in his large, slightly torn up arm chair, a decidedly human looking design that was classically archaic. With a jolt, she realized she was yet again reminded of Sparda in a way... the two didn't _look_ similar but they seemed to almost have been cut from the same cloth with the way they treated others; kindly, with respect, but held at arms length. Something foreign to most devils who'd spent their entire lives within the demon world.

Something clicked.

"You lived among humans, didn't you." She was almost accusatory in the way she spoke, but it came out before she could really stop herself. Too many questions and comments ran through her head, each more inane sounding than the next. Marchosias did not show that he was bothered by it, and merely waved a clawed hand in agreement.

"For a time. My brood-mates could be desperately irritating when we were just pups, and sometimes... I merely wished for a place I could be on my own. I spent quite a bit of time there, and slowly, I suppose, I grew fond of humanity. I had very many siblings in my youth, our kind being born in litters, and, well... Now it's just Berial and myself, so I stopped visiting the human world so much." He ended with a faraway smile that didn't look terribly out of place on his demonic visage, chin resting on his armored knuckles. There was a touch of old affection in there, somewhere, and Vergil took special note of what was said. Affection for family long gone, she thought.

Only the strong survive in this world, after all.

At the mention of his brother, however, the conversation between the demon sitting before her and his nestmate flashed back to her. What they spoke of originally made no sense, but after being told of how she'd been found. Completely drained of energy, while still devil triggered, on her last legs.

_-reviving a useless Devil Arm-_

It couldn't be... But memories of Beowulf upon her arms, the subdued strength behind them... Back then, she'd been able to muffle the gigantic guard's voice from her mind through sheer will power, not willing to listen to him bitch and moan and otherwise bemoan her existence. Had Marchosias done the same to her?

"I was a Devil Arm... and you brought me back." She was faintly aware of how much of this conversation was her inferring past events and him freely offering information that may or may not have even been true. He could have been simply allowing her to come to her own, possibly incorrect conclusions, leading her down some other path that would play in his favor.

He nodded noncommittally, sharp claws delicately playing with the worn fabric of the armchair. "You were in a bad way; you slaughtered everything that came near you, and even after several hours, you showed no sign of slowing down; once you'd exhausted your energy you would have died flat out. I had to take slightly more... firm measures in bringing you here. You weren't a Devil Arm for long, merely a few days of a human's life-"

"You don't own me." She suddenly snapped, eyes narrowed as realization dawned upon her. Reviving a devil arm from it's dormant state took a frankly ludicrous amount of red orbs, especially a "fresh" one. Older devil arms could theoretically wake themselves from inaction, but they often had to be collecting their strength for years at a time. She didn't know what he was playing at; demons rarely did things because they were _nice _and _just because_.

It hadn't felt like years in that slumberous void, after all.

"I don't wish to... But I had to make some sort of claim to keep them from tearing you into pieces. You put on a very impressive mating display, and every eligible demon in the surrounding area, male and female, were... interested." Marchosias seemed almost distressed, but she was past the point of caring enough to be polite. Being a good samaritan meant _jack shit _in a place like this.

"And I'm sure _you're_ not interested one iota, are you." She pulled the cloak around tighter, pressing back into the chair as far as she could. Despite what she'd said, just because she'd been revived from the dormant state (and _oh_, it was so tempting to ask _what _form she'd taken as a weapon...), Marchosias still technically _did _own her. Devil Arms had to obey their masters, and while they could be set free, what demon would do such a thing?

Wasn't so fun being on the other end of that spectrum, was it, she thought in frustration.

The devil facing her shifted uncomfortably in his seat, chin resting upon steepled fingers. He seemed to sink slightly further into the chair than his tall frame would allow, and for a moment, she entertained the thought of how comical it looked for a 7 foot tall demon to try and fit into human furniture.

"No matter how tempting a lurid female is, especially one of your caliber," She would swear later that it was stupid demoness hormones that made her unconsciously preen at that, " I suppose you could say that I owed your sire a debt. I was merely paying my dues. And perhaps wished to sate my own curiosity."

"_-some sense of sympathy for the traitor's spawn?"_

"That's a first. The only thing I've heard of my father from your kind is how he betrayed this entire world, and that didn't make him the most popular demon around. What makes you so different?" She intoned coldly, Berial's word echoing throughout her skull; demons weren't sympathetic like this. They didn't _care _for the sake of caring.

Except that Sparda had. He'd loved his wife and family, and for what, to die and leave them to his enemies? He'd left his mate and nestlings alone to the mercy of other demons. Mercy that none had shown.

Even the strong could fall.

Marchosias gave a mirthless smile, ruby orbs glittering with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

"My kind are still partially your kind as well, spitfire... You're very much like your mother, you know." _That _she wasn't expecting, but he ignored the slight surprise in her eyes and continued anyway.

"I've been alive for a long time, and I'd met so many humans throughout those long years, but it was those like your mother, with that wild, indomitable spark within them, that changed my mind... I met her during an exchange of old artifacts with your sire, and it was quite amusing to see the Legendary Dark Knight so taken with a human woman." He shifted in his seat again, expression growing more serious.

"While I cannot always separate the thoughts of dominance over humanity – after all, just because we are stronger than them must mean we should dominate them, yes?" Some part of Vergil flinched back at the sarcasm dripping from his words, and another part flushed in slight embarrassment, to be told off by a _demon_ of all things concerning _humans,_ "– it did change how I looked at them." So _this _the game he was playing at?

"So you have a fetish for humans, is that it? You'll keep me around as some-" She threw a hand up from beneath the shawl in a sweeping motion, still aware of her own nakedness but trying not to show it. She was being difficult and she knew it, but Marchosias _still _hadn't gotten to the root of why she was here.

"As some _plaything _that lets you study humanity up close?" The last bit of that came out as a snarl, and she could feel herself getting ready to trigger again, even if it was all in vain. The first time obviously hadn't done her any good, landing her in this position in the first place, and all the second time had done was tear up his furniture. He'd made no efforts to harm her that time, merely staying out of her way until she'd exhausted her energy. She might have been able to take him if she'd had Yamato – and there was that phantom pain of the missing weapon sweeping through her again – but as it stood now she barely had the energy to form a single summoned sword, and there was a fat load of good that would do her now.

He stilled, claws no longer fiddling with ripped fabric. He seemed to be struggling with finding the correct words, and it was that hesitant sigh that kept Vergil from attempting a devil trigger explosion to at least catch him off guard.

Hesitance was a horribly human trait, after all.

"That isn't what I would like," he finally spoke, quietly, before sitting up straighter and dwarfing her height with his own. There was at least a comfortable gap between them but she held no illusions that he could bridge it in a flash if he so wished.

"I meant it when I said it was just Berial and myself, and even now, I've sent him away; he's loathe to return so soon after one of our spats, so that gives me at least a few years of isolation. Otherwise, this home that I've fashioned for myself is completely empty. I do not employ servants nor guards, and I have not taken a serf under my wing in centuries. The legions I once commanded are now faded memories, and the only things I have here are the company of my books and the wisps that take to wandering around." At this he stood and made a very deliberate step forward; Vergil would never admit that she _shied _back, but he was tall and sturdily built, and while she had no frame of reference for her own size now compared to what she'd been before, this obsidian devil was heads taller than her now especially from her sitting position.

He was before her now, close enough to reach out and touch her, but she made no move to escape out of his reach and kept her glare trained upon him. Surprisingly, he knelt down, low enough that their eyes were now level, and he held her gaze passively.

"All I ask for are six months of companionship. For six months, I will allow you free reign of my territory and my domain. Six human months, and then I will set you free. You will no longer be obligated to stay by my side, as per the will of Devil Arms."

The glare turned to surprise, though she managed to hide the brunt of it. Half a year. Six months. What was that to a demon who'd lived centuries, if not thousands of years? Was he really so lonely that he'd welcome her into his domicile, not even to mate but just for company?

What was six months to her?

Really, what choice did she have?

"I... I accept. But you do not order me around. I will not be your bitch in heat, ready to mate whenever you feel like it." She stood now, looking down on him. This was a deal with the devil through and through, and there was no way she was walking into this helplessly.

Still kneeling, he grinned toothily at her, yet another thing he must have learned from humanity. "I would never dream of such a thing, my lady." _Ohh, _he had to know how that burned her, intentional as it must have been.

"Then I shall play your Persephone, until I am free of your shackles." She intoned with a slight flourish, head held up high. If they were at the point of sniping at each other, what was a little banter, back and forth? Simple flirting shouldn't be problematic, and may even assist her in some ways.

"Ah, but you forget; Persephone came back." The grin became more genuine now, mirth glimmering in those crimson depths. It's almost attractive.

Years from now, when Marco is dead and his soul shattered so thoroughly that not even a Devil Arm can be gleamed from the remains, Vergil will remember this moment, and her heart will constrict painfully in the cage that is her chest.

It was just fondness, she'll say. Never love.

* * *

End Chapter 2

* * *

Some fun facts: "Marchosias" is one of the 72 demons from the Ars Goetia (which is also where Berial, or rather, Belial, comes from!) of the Lesser Key of Solomon. He's listed as a powerful Marquis of Hell, and commands thirty legions of demons, though for story purposes, let's say he's put those days behind him. He gives true answers to all questions, and hoped to one day return to heaven with other non-fallen angels, though he was deceived there.

Funnily enough, I seriously considered using Berial in Marco's place, but having him play grumpy uncle is somewhat more amusing to me.

Next chapter will have definite sexy times and devil trigger sex, so beware, kiddies! Also a Dante cameo before he makes a proper appearance.


	3. You Make Me Like Charity

**Summary for this Chapter: **Vergil doesn't fall in love, still finds herself a slave to teenage impulses and bad biology, and makes a possibly idiotic decision.

**Warnings for this Chapter:** Vergil hangs around naked in front of a mirror and does some self exploration of her own. Aaaaaand a lot of random exposition, perceived ooc, and weird sex talk. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

To answer a question I received in the reviews about ocs; Marco's gonna get ditched (originally in this chapter, but I split it in half to make it more manageable) and then we'll be entertaining some kidfic shenanigans. But Nero still isn't gonna make an appearance for a while... Ehehehe. Other than that, remember that this is VergilxOC only on a physical level, with only some vague fondness reserved for fuck buddies. So no swooning or pining over lost loves, hah.

I forced myself to chop this chapter in half, because originally this and chapter 4 were just one huge 8000 word chunk, so... sorry about lying, guys! But instead of holding off on posting part four, you get a double update for dealing with my nonsense. I figured we've had enough of Marco and it was time to send him off for the time being, haha.

There is SO MUCH EXPOSITION in this chapter, but bear with me, please! Remember to keep note of the rating!

And a serious thank you to the people who reviewed and gave their opinions on the story, positive or negative :) Simply taking the time to tell me what you think of the story, whether you like it or not, really means a lot to me.

* * *

Chapter Three: You make me like Charity

* * *

The first month passed in what Vergil would later call companionable silence. Marco (somewhere between the third and fifth week she'd given up and started calling him that in her head, but never aloud) left her to her own devices for the most part, giving her a short tour before bounding off for parts unknown. They ate together during meals and made small talk, most of Vergil needling Marco for more info that he would possibly volunteer on his own at times, but for the most part it was... quiet.

Almost pleasant, really.

He'd left her with a closet of clothing, most of it rather archaic in fashion, and when she asked to the whereabouts of her old clothes, she was faced with a somewhat endearing look of abashment.

Apparently, Devil Triggering in already shredded clothing did little for the structural integrity of said apparel. Which was a real pity, because that was her favorite shirt, though the long coat had been long since lost before. However, she'd found a simple vest shirt and pair of trousers that were similar enough to her old outfit for her to not mind, even if they did seem to be older than she was.

Which lead to the next problem. Or rather, pair of problems.

Stripping down to the nude in front of the large mirror that took up a chunk of the wall in the room Marco had allotted to her, she gazed impassively at the body that seemed so foreign but familiar. Pale skin completely devoid of scars, something she knew was shared with her twin, minus one thin, nearly invisible line that cut across over her chest to kiss the corner of her hip. A parting blow from Rebellion, one of hundreds, though she'd never know why that one in particular never healed. Perhaps because it was the last one, she thought, maudlin.

Maybe her body knew that could have been the last time her brother's blade would taste her flesh, and wanted to hold on to that painful final reminder for as long as it could manage. Vergil couldn't exactly begrudge it that, grim as it was.

Not too much shorter than she'd previously been, at least. Not that the height mattered terribly at the moment, as the only weapon she had access to aside from her strength and speed were her summoned swords. She'd manage to muster them without Yamato, but the displacement technique still remained out of her reach for the time being. No matter, though, it would come back to her eventually.

Still. Her eyes fell to the floor to small feet that seemed miniscule in comparison to what they'd been before, slowly sliding up smooth legs and curved hips, leading to a slim waist and torso, then...

Vergil had nothing against breasts. Really, on some women they accentuated the figure quite nicely, but aside from attracting simpletons who saw nothing but an impressive wrack and bottom, and nursing young (which was _really _not something she wanted to think about right now), they served no other purpose.

Which was why the size of them on her was rather distressing. Dante would be laughing himself sick right now if he saw this. She wondered idly if this was, perhaps, simply what she'd have looked like born as a woman... or a byproduct of biology making her look as desirable to the discerning eye as possible, in human form at least. Vergil didn't _pretend _to not acknowledge that as a male, she'd been handsome (and, okay, by extension Dante as well... in a mangy, slobbish sort of way), but as a female... this was a form that was commonly objectified as "very attractive". She had no real point of reference for what demons considered attractive (aside from, well, _power)_ but apparently her devil form was flashy enough to garner some attention.

And considering that it was _Dante _that triggered this particular bit of nonsense, Vergil didn't want to spend too much time thinking about what _she_ thought _Dante_ liked in his women. The sibling bond between was a quiet, dead thing that Vergil herself had smothered the previous year, so it wasn't as though she could just up and _ask _him how he liked his ladies.

She poked one breast idly with a finger, before cupping it with her hand, feeling the weight of it in her palm. Big enough to not be held completely in one hand, and enough of an irritant in that they were too big to bound comfortably. Big enough to _get in the way._

Unthinkingly, she flicked her nipple with a single finger; they were sensitive enough to make her spine scrunch up, not entirely in discomfort, but it was still... distracting. It wasn't that Vergil wasn't well versed in self-pleasure; everyone needed to blow off some steam somehow... but the female body was mostly unfamiliar to her, as women had never held her interest in the past-

Ah, okay, maybe that did explain a lot of things.

Still, that didn't mean she was going to roll over for any alpha male stupid enough to lord his manhood her... or anyone, really. Marco's impressive collection of books had done wonders for what little she knew of demonic culture. There were dominant females and submissive males, and it would be dangerously narrow minded to believe that only a dominant and submissive couple would pair off. Realistically, gender meant little to most demons when those that actually cared to reproduce had concubines for breeding purposes (minus, of course, whatever the fuck category Sparda fell into), and many others didn't breed at all till near the end of their long lives.

After all, it wouldn't do to get offed by one's own progeny.

Just another thing to adjust to, she supposed dully as she finally got dressed.

But, she thought while picking through some drab clothing, demons were always surprising based on what she _didn't _know. Many different demons came passing through, a least one a week, and she'd found that Marco was an appraiser of sorts of old artifacts that the passersby would make use of. A mated pair of females – a feline and some sort of flying devil - had come through the previous week, and with them they'd brought their tiny nestling (Vergil _refused_ to call him cute, even though something in her heart shook when he let out a miniscule yawn showcasing tiny baby teeth), curled protectively under the hard shell of his dam's wings. Vergil had remained out of the way while Marco discussed whatever it is was he need with the two, and analyzed what she could from afar. Initially, she'd assumed the winged devil was the birth mother, but, during a moment where the flying demon aired out her large, draconic appendages, Vergil had caught sight of a distinctly cat like tail.

Not only that, but the scent of both parents mingled together around the nestling. Not that Vergil was close enough to test just how much of one mother lingered more (there was no way in hell she was getting between a mother and her nestling), but from where she was standing it was impossible to discern which was more powerful. The nestling smelled like the both of them.

Eventually, the two left, pleased with whatever business they'd conducted, and Vergil had wandered over to Marco, a question brimming upon her lips. His tail, a thick, thinly armored thing that echoed the scales on his arms, whipped around him, something Vergil had somehow failed to notice for quite a while early on, but now that she was aware of its presence found it impossible to ignore.

"So, which one was the mother?" She tried to act nonchalant, but there was so much she didn't know that it was hard to keep the curiosity out of her voice. Marco took no note of this, a light grin quirked upon his lips.

"Oh, they both were." She raised a brow at this.

"So it is possible for two females to produce young?" She hadn't found a book on that yet, but the first thing she was going to do was search one out to make sure he wasn't pulling the wool over her eyes.

He side eyed her, a wider grin forming; it made her want to punch that shit-eating grin off his dumb, demonic visage.

"Well, there are some demons capable of reproduction without male input, but neither of those two fall under that category." Her brows furrowed as she crossed her arms; she knew he didn't find it the least bit threatening, but she didn't care.

Frustrated, she pushed on, " So, how is it that between the two of them, they end up with a nestling?"

Finally, Marco turned fully to her, a patronizing smile on his face.

"My dear Persephone, I was under the impression that adoption was still viable in the human world."

She'd punched him for that, though she wasn't sure if it was for the insult to her intelligence or the nickname; she'd definitely broken her hand on his stupid face, but it was worth it.

* * *

She'd spent most of her time early on in the not unimpressive catacomb Marco called a library, searching for any and all books that had more information on her... condition. While there were a multitude of books on the subject – many giving off disgusting amounts of pheromones that she mostly ignored – there were also a strangely large number of dog-eared torrid romance novels _(Human _novels) that Vergil rolled her eyes at. Demons were melodramatic idiots.

"Was the only literature he brought back after years of walking amongst humans really just this drivel?" She groused to herself after picking through the upteenth dime store novel she found; oh, there were classics in human literature there as well, but they were not nearly so used as the romance novels. It must have been where Marco had gotten his cheek from.

Still... While useful, a good chunk of the books and manuscripts were written in demonic languages, and though Vergil could parse most of them for their meanings, some still eluded her. Considering the texture some of them had, she also wouldn't discount a good amount of them being bound in skin, human or otherwise.

She refused to ask Marco for assistance, and anything that would further her unsaid debt to said demon was something she sought to avoid. The sting of having been manipulated by a mere human (albeit one backed by demonic power) of the likes of Arkham was still fresh in her mind, and while she kept a friendly if somewhat frigid rapport with the devil who'd allowed her into his home, she kept it distant to obviate the danger of falling into the same trap twice. Marco, as far as devils went, was perfectly respectable in human terms, almost gentlemanly even, but she wasn't about to open her arms to some demon that, if given the chance and proper incentive, would bend her over and have his way with her. Or... however else his kind mated, because she wasn't entirely sure of his species and what form he _really _took.

Oh yes, an otherworldly version of what appeared to be the Kama Sutra was very informative on how different demons reproduced, and, quite frankly, Vergil thought she could have definitely gone her life span without seeing detailed diagrams over how minor creatures like the Hell Prides and Gigapedes reproduced. Thankfully, despite Sparda's more insectoid form, it seemed that vile things like... _oviposition _that certain insects were known forwere reserved for more beastly, less intelligent life forms in the hellish underworld. Additionally, she was (far more than she'd _ever_ admit) more relieved to discover that conception was nigh impossible unless certain... parts matched. So if anything... _untoward_ occurred, as long she wasn't in devil form, nor he in an as of yet unseen human form...

Basically, if things went ass up with Marco, she wouldn't have to worry about shit like that. Because holy fuck that was not a road she wanted to go down.

After some more sifting through the devil's sutra, however, Vergil had definitely spent some speculating over what his true form could have possibly looked like; something like Sparda, more human shaped perhaps? But no, then what was his idle form for? She hadn't seen Berial, not truly, but she had seen the scorched footsteps left in the carpet in the wake of his abrupt departure. Giant, digitigrade paws; something that walked on four legs and was as long as a limo, then, if what the distance between each set of prints told her was true. It could have been anything from canine to feline to even a bear, but she wasn't well versed enough in animal biology to take an educated guess. And quite frankly, she didn't want to spend more time than necessary mulling over it, images of various horrific animal genitalia coming to mind and superimposed upon even more vile demonic bodies. _Eugh_.

Still, that didn't mean the full blooded sibling pair possessed the same exact traits. She and Dante were _twins_ and there was no way anyone could mistake their triggers for one another; if anything, they were more complements to one another than exact replicas. Suddenly, she thought of her devil trigger and wondered how different the form would be now. She hadn't taken the time to inspect herself in front of a mirror while triggered, but she could envision certain changes; perhaps a smaller crest, smaller wings, more curves-

"This is getting me nowhere." She bit out as she shut the book in her hands, tossing it back into the growing pile to her left, frustrated by how easily distracted she'd become. She'd come here to figure out if there was a way to reverse the situation, if only for posterities sake.

Vergil didn't want to admit that during the past month, she'd discovered her newfound female body faster and more agile than before, once having gotten _used to _it. Without a suitable weapon, however, it was impossible to tell how much she could truly take advantage of such a thing, but, well, compared to Dante... She was almost becoming _complacent. _

If anything, she should have been _more _worried that she wasn't... trying that hard to revert to a male body. If she'd put more thought into it, she could have written it off as her brain simply accepting it as a natural way of progression. Instead, she ignored that part of her brain and read more books while simultaneously cursing Dante to the deepest pits of hell... Or, wherever she was, so she could beat the shit out of him. She was getting very capable with just her summoned swords.

Another frustrated sigh escaped her; while there was quite a bit of material on how to initiate her situation, there was no remedy for how to reverse it. Apparently, no one cared much for such a concept. They just wanted their fuck doll and multitudes of demon babies.

No matter, she'd just castrate Dante the next time she saw him. Just to make things fair.

Still, she needed someway to blow off the frustration building up within her.

* * *

The second month passed in tense silence, Vergil still at odds with the plethora of information she'd gathered that, in the end, proved useless to her endeavor.

Glaring at Marco during meals provided a minor bit of amusement, his confusion at her sudden terse behavior only a tiny bit satisfying. Of course, the part of her that Eva had infused with manners whispered in the back of her mind that it was somewhat unfair to her host. In turn, she steadily ignored that part of her brain, yet again, because he was still a demon and manners to them were things offering the last human head to a guest.

Of course, the building tension led to many sleepless nights of locked doors (not that Vergil ever left the door unlocked) and some more... intimate research. Purely for blowing off steam and becoming more familiar with her body, of course, if it was indeed something she was going to be stuck with for the near future.

Hell, if Dante could spend hours bragging about how he could make a woman scream in ecstasy, though perhaps not as eloquently put... Well, time to test out the tips little brother oh so kindly offered.

* * *

"You seem a tad... stressed." Marco finally breached the subject on the third day of the third month, halfway through her tenure as his de facto guest. His tail curled about in the air, and for a moment she wondered just how much articulation it really had.

She eyed him from across the table, a respectable distance if any; she was sure she could outrun him if need be, but even after days of exploration, the rococo inspired home remained a larger mystery to her, and he had the advantage of knowing it much better than herself. Vergil didn't pretend that despite his promise, she was anything but a prisoner in this place for the remaining months; she could constantly feel the call of her devil arm form, whatever that still may be, singing to her, and that only added to her already growing annoyance.

"What makes you think that?" She refrained from snapping much else, an irritation that had been building for weeks bubbling up from within her. The frustration she'd thought was only natural with the situation at hand, but there had been other, smaller irritants that had popped up seemingly at random. The nightly... stress relief sessions had helped, but there was still, so to say, an itch she couldn't quite scratch.

She didn't want to think back to the section of the demonic sutra that detailed heat cycles. She'd figured she'd exhausted the first pseudo cycle when the change had first taken place, if that was indeed what the first bout of wild energy had been, and, after mentally counting the days and comparing them to what she'd read, deduced she'd had a decent amount of time until the next one. Conception wasn't a sure thing during it, and she'd made the mistake of continuously comparing demons to animals; there were more similarities than differences, to be sure, but breeding was not the only thing they were preoccupied with.

"Well, your nocturnal ministrations, while delightful to hear, are rather telling." She wouldn't blush, she _wouldn't; _as far as she knew, he didn't sleep anywhere near her quarters, but memories came to her, of Sparda remaining awake in the middle of the night, keeping watch and never seeming to need rest_. _Instead, she held her expression and responded coolly.

"Do you have a better option in mind?" At his eyes rolling down her form, what wasn't hidden behind the table, she instantly retorted, "Except that."

Shifting back in his chair, he clacked his claws upon the stone table, contemplative, ruby eyes glittering with amusement. Vergil was offhandedly reminded of dual red orbs, shimmering with their mouths opened in eternal screams before being offered to the nebulous God of Time.

"I do, actually." He was becoming more bold, she thought, before having kept a presentable distant between them, now slowly closing it, bit by bit, inch by inch.

The gentleman was slowly being replaced by the fiend, a sharp toothed grin adorning his silhouette.

That was the trick, she thought, hands clenched tightly below the table top. Fine, two could play at this game.

Marco motioned towards a giant door with a clawed hand, one of the many gargantuan passageways that Vergil had noted for their size, possibly to allow something much larger than either of them through.

"Care for a run?"

And here was the treat.

* * *

Running at breakneck speed through a murderous forest filled with flora and fauna that was designed to kill you was far more exhilarating than Vergil had initially given it credit for. There was some sort of childish glee to be had, she mused while dodging most likely toxic vines that made a grab for her, in running wildly through a demonic hell forest. During the fourth month, these runs had become more and more common place, and while going solo was definitely an option to her... She found she preferred a partner for such instances.

It also answered one of her many questions; said answer lopping in a wide gait somewhere in the foliage behind her. The threat of being caught was always very real, and though Vergil now knew she could outrun Marco in his lower energy form, this larger, more imposing beast was a different story. She _hadn't _been caught yet once in these escapades, but she was unsure if that was due to actually being faster or if he'd been simply playing her.

He'd simply said, without her every questioning it, "I like giving my prey a head start," a wolfish grin gracing his features before he'd melted into the dark depths of the forest. She snorted at the memory; melodramatic _and _having watched too many human horror movies.

The thought of escape had certainly crossed her mind, but the code of devil arms was such that if he so wished it, he could call her back to her dormant weapon state at any given time, and as if to strike that into her skull, a nightmarish howl rang through the stagnant air. No, escape was definitely not an option on the table; she'd just have to wait it out and hope he'd keep his word.

Considering the nature of demons and trickster archetypes associated with them, Vergil wouldn't put it past him to toy with her like this. Still, anytime he'd come close to clipping her, his two-toned tongue lolling not unlike that of an actual canine, she'd shot off several summoned swords into his snout, the startled yelp music to her ears. Not enough to permanently disfigure, of course; she was becoming very adept at adjusting the size of her phantom blades.

Freakishly, however, she found she was starting to _like _the idea of being caught. The irritation had bled away to something else, a darker emotion pooling in her core, and while this had started purely in an exercise to blow off steam... Well, she'd considered the logistics a few times. Okay, more than a few times, as the side of her that controlled her devil trigger was so kind to demonstrate. Previously innate desires had suddenly reared up within her over the past month, and as Marco was essentially the only other _being_ within her general vicinity (she was not even going to _consider_ the hell prides that prowled the surrounding areas), she maybe couldn't be entirely blamed for focusing her newfound perverse sexual lust upon him. Her devil side wanted a warm body and he was the only one nearby.

Better than fixating a physical attraction on _Dante_, and bringing to life more narcissistic complexes than she was willingly going to analyze.

Perhaps, Vergil contemplated as she ducked below a low hanging branch that at second glance seemed to actually reach out towards her, she shouldn't be so quick to change the tune of her horn. But she figured that the thought of being permanently stuck in a squishier, far more hormonal version of her original body allotted her some level of temporary insanity. She didn't dare devil trigger for the very real fear of losing control and jumping him; if this was happening, it was going to be on _her_ terms. Vergil had always prided herself on her stone cold control, but at this point in time, she was still a fish out of water, and didn't care chance it. Especially considering how much she was throwing on this next gamble.

Plus, she figured it was manageable as long as he wasn't in his beast form. He was the size of a tour bus this way, and she could very likely fit in his mouth (and he'd probably like it, the freak). After all, it would only be fair; two could play the manipulation game here, she thought darkly.

Vergil found herself reaching a clearing that was free of some of the more active plant life, and, mind made, slowed to a halt, blue blades hovering in the air around her in case he came barreling in and literally ran over her. While even this level of activity had her barely breaking a sweat, she still found herself panting heavily, in anticipation or fear, she didn't know.

Another howl sundered the air, and Vergil remembered a lost moment spent with Dante as children, watching random animal documentaries during the rare times Eva could get them to sit in front of the television without them getting into a scrap. She could almost hear the narrator speaking in his calm, elderly voice in her head.

"_Wolves howl to let pack members know where they are and to signal their location."_

"Well, then, come and get me, dear Hades." She muttered to herself, well aware that it could end very badly if she didn't maneuver it properly. Dante was never finding out about this _ever._

Best case scenario, she'd get her fill and her demon side would shut the fuck about mating and generally nagging her like a grandmother who wanted loads of grandchildren. Worst case scenario... she wouldn't be able to convince him to return to his regular form and she'd see up close and personal just how proportional demonic reproductive organs could be. And she'd really rather not get torn in half over something as idiotic as this.

Finally, _finally, _she heard, rather than saw, him slow down, hidden behind towering trees. There was a note of confusion in the way that he hesitated to make an immediate appearance. Even while in this form, controlled by more animalistic urges, there was still some intelligence apparent. Eventually, however, curiosity won out, and he stepped out into the clearing.

It wasn't entirely fair to say that demons were so on the nose with how they corresponded with creatures from the human world; Sparda's hard shell had definitely hearkened to images of powerful beetles, but neither her nor Dante's devil triggers truly resembled anything in the natural world, at least nothing like she'd seen. It was more like they merely _referenced _and happened to look like pre-existing creatures. So it wasn't entirely accurate to say that Marchosias was a _wolf _demon.

More like _wolf shaped,_ in the loosest sense of the word. The same color scheme and segmented scales covered his body, with a sharp head that possessed a mouth that seemed to perpetually hold a wolf-like grin, filled with far too many teeth. No fur, at least none instantly recognizable, instead replaced by the same hard, leathery skin that covered the more sensitive parts of his body. The folded wings at his sides seemed almost ostentatious and silly at this point, because his day-to-day form didn't have them, but they were unimportant overall and when not in use almost blended in with the rest of his scales.

Also, he was the size of mack truck, sans trailer, which meant that it was _very pertinent_ that the next part of this idiotic, hormone fueled plan not backfire horribly.

"I thought perhaps we could set aside some time to discuss something I was curious about." The point was to sound as professional as possible and not entice him in _this _form. He quirked his head, obviously interested, and made to step forward, only to have a glowing blade throw embed itself in the dirt before his massive paw. If he'd been capable of more complex expressions, she just knew he would raising a brow at her.

"Oh no, you know the rule." The unofficial, never spoken, she totally didn't-just-make-this-bullshit-up-to-get-laid rule. The swords hovering suddenly froze and focused on a central spot, which he definitely noticed. "You don't come anywhere near me while you're like that." She nearly internally crowed in satisfaction when she saw the telltale chuff that signaled a sigh as he made to turn, demonic energy consolidating into a more compact form. Once he'd transformed back into his day-to-day form, he did a light flourish and bowed, dramatic as usual.

"Your wish, my lady?" Such a cheeky asshole.

Some demons were smart. Some were stupid. Most devils and higher leveled demons? Devastatingly clever at times.

A hand found its way to her chest, resting at the first button at the top of the still pristine dress shirt she'd worn out. She made sure his eyes were following her hand, as another incorporeal sword formed around her.

"I was thinking it was time we changed up the rules of this game."

Devils liked shows of power. The first button went, showing off what she knew was a delectable hint of collarbone. Another sword formed. His eyes darted from the unbuttoned top of her shirt to the newly formed sword floating almost lazily in the air, something akin to realization dawning in his eyes.

"You stay in this form." She had to be quick or else he'd grow impatient and maybe make an attempt to bypass the swords completely. She'd already succeeded with the hard part of the plan, but there was still some wrangling she had to do to get this just right.

If the show of power could be entwined with sexuality in some way, even better. Even more enticing, and it didn't even have to be terribly explicit to really rev their engines, so to speak. The second button went, showcasing some cleavage, and a third sword was added to the already plentiful batch. His stance became guarded, but ready, and she schooled her face into an expression of cool defiance. It wouldn't do to look too eager, after all.

"Starting when I release the swords, a race to the west wing." Her quarters, the place most familiar to her in his own home. The third button was the next casualty, and that all but left her almost completely bared, braless. If she had spent longer concentrating on the next summoned sword, she would have missed the very slight intake of breath that escaped him. Demons weren't prudes by any stretch of the imagination, but this one seemed to have some bizarre sense of decency.

"If you catch me..." She trailed off after that, adding one last sword to the swirling mass behind her. It seemed unnecessary to remove the fourth button, but she did anyway, letting one side of the shirt fall past her shoulder. It was going to be a bitch to race back like this, but it would be worth it.

"Well, I'll let your imagination fill in the rest."

The swords raced off, one by one, and he pounced, tail lashing wildly.

Devils were smart and clever when they wanted to be. When they were horny, however, they could be so easily predictable. And downright stupid.

She'd barely made it to the entrance leading to the west wing before he was upon her, rending her clothing instantly into shreds, nearly feral and driven mad by lust, and she laughed, an echoing sound fueled by desire and perhaps just a sliver of madness.

Jackpot.

* * *

End Chapter Three

* * *

Double update time! I promise this is better planned out than it looks TT_TT


	4. It's the Stars that Set You Free

**Summary for this Chapter: **Vergil gets laid a lot, makes a stupid mistake, and finally gets back to her twin (not that she missed him at all, of _course not)_.

**Warnings for this chapter: **Vaguedepictions of rough sex, allusions to DT!Sex in passing, and lots of weird demon posturing. You know, the usual. Also, lots of mushy sibling feels at the end (_finally!)_.

Here's the other half of what was originally chapter three, and we finally get to Dante! Bye, Marco!

* * *

Chapter four: It's the Stars that set you Free

* * *

The first time they fuck, Vergil can't move out of bed the next day. Honestly, she's a little surprised they even got to a bed in the first place. Her body was a battle field of bruises and leftover scars that were still healing over, and she felt as if she'd been hit by a truck. Literally.

She turned over, blanketed by clean, soft sheets she was sure weren't there before, something he'd possibly left after escaping the room in the aftermath. Because there really was no other word for it; Vergil remembered quite a bit of blood, a lot of biting from both parties, and quite a lot of claws gouging deep marks into flesh.

"Totally worth it." She murmured, triumphant as her fingers trailed over a large set of bruises from where he'd gripped her hips with bone crushing strength that would have straight up broken the pelvis on a normal human. There was no sweet pillow talk to be had there; she wasn't looking for a mate to get claimed by, and thankfully, neither was he searching for one to claim.

There had been a moment, however, when his body covered hers, dwarfing her form, where he'd been nipping soft bites up her spine, each getting progressively more and more harsh before turning into bites that were drawing blood. By the time he'd reached her neck, she'd spun around in his grasp and had her hand on the most intimate part of him, fangs out and hissing like a cat.

"No claiming, or I rip it off."

In his right mind, he didn't want a life mate, but in the lust addled lizard brain, there was no telling what he was thinking, so she'd figured a warning was necessary with some added force for emphasis. While he was larger and perhaps physically stronger, there were definitely ways Vergil could have made it very unenjoyable if things took a wrong turn for her.

Truly rough sex (or rather, basically all sex that demons engaged in), she'd realized, was a luxury that really couldn't be had with humans, their bodies simply too fragile to handle it and any other form of rough housing, as she'd found very quickly in her early life. Dante had definitely had some close calls that she'd chastised him for, not out of any real sympathy for humans but more for his own mental state of being.

Sure, she stabbed him twice on top of that tower and possibly afforded him all sorts of life lasting trauma, but he was still her little brother and she had to look after him somehow.

Hair that she'd let grow fell into her face, just brushing the tips of her shoulders now, and she swept her bangs aside idly; she was too lazy to slick them back and without a proper haircut it would just look silly. She figured she could afford some relaxation time into these final months, her demon quelled for the time being but still lurking at the corners of her mind.

After all, she thought while stretching her aching body, might as well enjoy it while she was here.

* * *

The fifth month and the first half of the sixth are spent in a near drunk haze of demonic energy and enough fucking that would sate even Dante for a while. Vergil hadn't triggered in months, and even with the sex burning up most of the pent up energy, her devil brain was still shrieking at her every so often and beckoning her to trigger and screw the nearest warm body into oblivion. Even near inebriated on devil power, she was still holding on to what little control she had.

"Never happy, are you?" She thought, counting down the days to her release. There had been some thought to where she would go and what she would afterwards, and, to be honest, jumping straight back into the hostile hell world while still hopped up on hormones didn't seem like the smartest plan she'd had. It seemed like it would take years for her body to fully sort itself out, a revelation she was not entirely pleased with.

No, running around in a forest while pumping out "come fuck me" pheromones was definitely not the answer here.

But still... going back to the human world, to... could she really avoid him if she went back? Their paths always seemed to cross no matter how many times they'd separated, she mulled, the memory of him reaching for her over the waterfall coming back to her mind. She'd fought so hard to come to the demonic realm (and look at how well _that_ turned out) and now part of her wanted to go _back _to the world she'd shunned?

"Is there a way back to the human world that wouldn't alert every demon in the vicinity?" She'd finally asked one day, with two weeks and three days to go until the end of her incarceration. Marco turned to her, brows quirked with a smile playing on his lips.

"Ah, eager to return to your nestmate already?" He teased, and she flushed, only slightly.

"That is definitely _not _it." But he continued, ignoring her denial.

"We always want to return to our families, you know. There's no shame in that." He paused and looked past her, considering something, "Though, that might be the best plan for you. As my devil arm," and she bristled at this, being considered _anyones _was still something she'd rather avoid, "You've been allotted my protection, but once I set you free, that protection will no longer apply."

_I don't need anyone protecting me, _she growled internally, but said nothing of the sort, replying with something else.

"Well, is there a way back or not?"

Another toothy grin met her.

"Of course there is. How else do you think I acquired my impressive collection of fine reading?" Fine reading her _ass, _harlequin novels didn't count as anything tasteful or worth owning.

Still, even with things having gone so well up to a point, they were bound to fuck up with her right at the middle of it.

* * *

He'd shown Vergil the gate that would take her back to the human world, on the final day; a small shrine with intricate runes carved into the stone, not far from his home. She figured that he'd either built the gate near his home or his home around it instead, if he really had been so fond of visiting humanity.

"It requires red orbs to activate, and once I free you you'll have access to the impressive amount you had when I found you. You have to have a clear destination in mind when you use it, else it might get... confused." It seemed simple enough, though the way he spoke of it made it seem as if it were sentient. Then again, it wouldn't surprise her in the great scheme of things, she mused as they made their way back to his home.

Her first mistake was deciding to engage in one final bout of "stress relief", some warped thank you, within what had to be the final hours of her imprisonment. At the time, it seemed like any other demonic power fueled session of sex; it had felt good, and honestly, that's all that had mattered.

However, no matter how mature Vergil acted, no matter how much blood she'd spilled, she was still technically a partially human teenager. And teenagers were stupid.

So when she was riding out the final moments of ecstasy, clamped around his demonic form so tight he might break in half were he human, she wasn't exactly in full control of her facilities. The final hour she'd counted to ticked away, gone, and still panting, still intertwined, she met his gaze, ice blue meeting ruby red, and inclined her head slightly.

They never kiss. It's an intimate motion that humans do, and something demons have no use for. It's something she's thankful for, not wanting to delve into that particular can of worms. His hands still upon her hips, seeming almost loathed to let go, but he understood.

A deal was a deal.

"So I suppose this is goodbye." Without letting go of the grasp on her hip, his other clawed hand gripped the back of her skull, almost sensually, and brought her head forward so that he could whisper the freeing words into her ear.

"_Libera te ex infernis."_

The sudden rush of power was thoroughly unexpected, and her vision exploded in a brilliant blue light.

* * *

_Devil May Cry_, Dante decided, was a fucking _awesome _name for a shop as he thought about the bright neon sign he hoped to implement (that maybe hearkened just a tad little too much to Love Planet...). Not that he was ever to admit that to Lady, who'd initially given him the idea. He sat at his desk, taking a moment to peer around his, for the time being, fairly clean if somewhat sparse living space. He didn't have much stuff left over after the fiasco from several months ago, most of it destroyed in the first fight that had taken place in his office.

The wreckage left behind by the raising and subsequent fall of Temen-ni-gru was still in the process of being cleaned up by the city; a slow but steady stream of able bodied workers were making their way out from ground zero to the rest of Capulet City, taking in the worst of the damage and attempting to make something positive out of it.

It was slow work, but it was getting done, and honestly, that's what mattered at this point.

Dante had spent weeks clearing up the facade of his shop, kicking large hunks of rock from the roof before calling in some carpenters who'd owed him a favor from a while back to fix the rest for cheap. Doing it himself was out of the question when he'd realized he knew next to nothing about plumbing and, well, basically everything else that had gone into a building.

For now, everything was okay. Everything... seemed okay. He'd woken up early to try and get some more work done, but as it was, he found himself too caught up in past thoughts to get anything finished.

His gaze fell to where the slashed glove lay on his desk, dried blood from months ago still marring its tattered fabric, before falling to his own hand, an invisible white line crossing his palm like a desperate lifeline.

The rejection stung, even now as he clenched his first, and the part of him that didn't want to pummel Vergil in his stupid regal face missed him with a fierceness that rivaled even the darkest parts of his soul.

He wondered, vaguely, leaning back lazily in his much abused desk chair, where his twin was now. The connection they'd once shared was blocked off, a coldness in the back of his mind that he'd since grown used to, though not for lack of trying. It had started when Vergil had gone down this dark path, blocking himself off from his twin for, what, to not tip Dante off to his plans to raise a stupid phallic tower in the middle of the city? That had been over a year before the events at the tower had even taken place, and now, even further from that original cut off, the hollow feeling still ate at him.

Too caught up in his musings, he didn't notice until the normally gelid and silent connection suddenly flared up like an inferno and knocked him on his ass, right out of his goddamn chair. Papers flew in a stream around him, knocked off the desk as he scrambled to upright himself, too surprised by the slew of emotions and gibberish words flying through his head.

_Nestmate? Nestmate?_was about all he could pick up coherently, the rest just mumbled words that seemed to be calling him, the link pulled now taught between him and where Vergil _had _to be. It was like a compass pointing north, and he instantly knew just where and how far it was.

If this was a trap... He didn't even finish that thought as he sprung to his feet, grabbing Rebellion from it's temporary stand and Ebony and Ivory from where they'd be lying on his desk. He didn't even have to time to think of how stupid this was, rushing forward without any planning. The voice over the link called to him again, distressed, and it only made him move faster.

If this was a trap, he thought viciously while peeling out from the office so fast he broke too many traffic laws to count on his bike, it was fucking working,

* * *

Vergil woke up with a somewhat clear mind, an aching body, and no clothes.

So, not that different from how she'd been waking from the past two months.

What was different was the feeling of grass between her fingers when she flexed them, the scent of the morning dew as she drew in a deep breath that seemed free from the oppressive air in the underworld. She opened her eyes, peering up at a calm, if slightly overcast, blue sky. Was she... back?

That the sky wasn't a deep, blood red was a pretty big tip off. She could hear birds chirping in the distance, and wherever she was, it was a misty morning, away from a city and all the industrial sounds that accompanied it. It seemed almost idyllic, nothing overly hostile or trying to maim her in sight.

How... annoying.

She took in another breath, her body shaking, though from what she didn't quite know yet. She felt _exhausted_, trying to push herself up from where she'd been laying splayed in the grass but was finding it to be a much harder endeavor than originally thought. Had she been _steam rolled?_ She hadn't felt this sore since the _first _time they'd fucked, and what they'd been doing before was _not enough _to bring on this level of hurt. She could feel the cold chain of her mother's amulet hanging heavily from her neck, far heavier than it had ever felt before, a weight that was almost pulling her back down to the cold earth.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered were Marco's word, and then a bright flash of... blue... light... The realization hit her like a brick wall.

The same light that normally preceded a devil trigger explosion.

Shit.

"Oh god..." Had she really... Her hand dove to the back of her neck, where a claimant mark would normally be. When her fingers found nothing aside from the overall full body ache she was experiencing, her relief was nearly palpable. Okay, at least she'd managed to refrain from _that. _She was in no mood to take a life mate, if not now then _never, _and a romance novel obsessed demon was definitely not what she would have chosen. Triggering while still... intimate was a huge mistake, she groaned to herself.

The bone deep exhaustion was a similar feeling to having depleted the large reserve of devil power she'd been holding onto, and after having been in that odd haze for nearly a month and a half, felt something akin to a hellish hangover bleed over her. Her demon side, oddly enough, was quiet, almost nonexistent, as if slumbering.

Later, Vergil would berate herself for panicking too much and not paying enough attention to her surroundings, ignoring the painful tug of a connection she'd smothered for almost a year and a half. Too caught up in her daze, she didn't hear the sound of gun cocking against the back of her head until a familiar voice snarled, harsh and angry, nothing like the smarmy, playful idiot she remembered.

"Who the _fuck_ are you?"

Fucking _Dante._

* * *

After hopping off his bike and throwing himself through a wooded area at the outskirts of Capulet City at breakneck speed, Dante found himself deep within a lush forest that he would have never guessed lay by the big city. If he'd cared to think more on it, he'd realize it was some sort of national park, but as it was, none of those things mattered in the slightest to him.

What mattered was where the link was pulling him to, and, as he slowed down after tumbling through misty woods, found himself near it's epicenter. He came to a halt, footsteps silent as he avoided snapping twigs in the underbrush so as to not alert whatever it was he being led to. Coming upon a small, fog smattered clearing, the naked woman (demoness?) sitting at its center was not quite what he expected.

She smelled heavily of sex and blood, something Dante was far too familiar with and could smell even from the small distance away from her, and while there was an overwhelming familiarity to both her underlying natural scent and the silver tresses that fell just past her shoulders, the scent of an elder demon, fiery brimstone and charcoal, still permeated around her, making him far more wary.

He wasn't too far from her, but he pulled out Ebony as he made his way closer to her. She hadn't seemed to notice him, far too caught up in something else to even turn around.

A quiet "Oh god" left her lips, and for a moment he thought he'd been found out, but instead saw one of her hands dart up to the back of her neck, grasping at something invisible, before a relieved sigh left her, seeming to deflate the tenseless apparent in her.

As he got closer, he could hear her labored breathing, and noticed the full body shiver that seemed to consume her, either from the cold or something else. As far as women went, her body was spot on for what he found attractive, but he ignored that. He couldn't let the fact the link was tugging him towards her go, and he wondered, serious for a moment, just who she was and why the link he'd had with Vergil was drawing him towards her. He'd never heard of a transfer of a sibling bond before; Vergil was an ass, but he was still Dante's older brother, and if this woman had done anything to jeopardize that fragile bond...

Holding up Ebony, he held it in line with the back of her, before biting out words to give himself away. He could see the glint of a gold chain around her neck, and it gave him pause before he spoke.

"Who the _fuck _are you?"

She froze, before slowly turning her body to meet his gaze. His rage gave way to confusion, when ice blue met familiar ice blue, an aristocratic brow quirked in a way that reminded Dante far too much of a childhood spent eternally fighting with his twin. The chain had an amulet he would recognize in an instant attached to it, nestled between her (admittedly very nice) breasts, identical to the one hanging around his own neck. The same face, only more feminine, softer; more features from Eva than Sparda, wrought with confusion. If he hadn't known better, he would have assumed this was a third unknown sibling, a sister, hidden away from both him and Vergil.

Vergil...

"...Dante?" There was her voice again, somewhat incredulous. Fuck, she even _sounded _like mom. Not in the way her voice sounded, really, but more the way she spoke, putting the same emphasis on his name the same way Eva would when she'd admonish him. The same way _Vergil _would when he'd done something phenomenally stupid.

No demon pretending to be... whoever the fuck this was would know that. Suddenly, the overwhelming familiarity of the scent around her came back to him, the fact that this thing had the other half of his mothers amulet, the fucking twin link, the way she goddamned _looked, _and suddenly he just _knew-_

"...Vergil?"

* * *

Oh, _good, _he'd figured it out. Now if only he'd get Ebony out of her face and pointed away from her.

"Yes, Dante?" Trying to appear nonchalant while naked in front of one's twin brother was a more taxing experience than Vergil would have thought, especially since they weren't even the same gender anymore and the last time Dante had seen her, she hadn't been sporting a pair of grapefruits attached to her chest.

His eyes darted from her face to her chest to the rest of her body, utterly baffled by what he was seeing. She tried to raise a hand to push Ebony away from her face, but he jerked back and held it up again. Oh for god's sake.

"How the hell do I know you're actually Vergil?" She _stared _him, flatly, before rolling her eyes.

"You're an idiot." Dante made a face that looked as though he tasted something unpleasant, and if Vergil had possessed the energy, had half the mind to make him eat dirt like she'd done when they were five-

Ah.

"When we were five, I convinced you that mud was chocolate and got you to eat three mouthfuls of it before you realized I was being facetious." He made another face, as if trying to remember the awful, if not hilarious, memory.

She continued, trying to remember every embarrassing, useless bit of info she had on him.

"When we were nine, father gave us an edited", very _heavily _edited, she thought viciously, "version of 'the talk', and you believed that you could grow a sibling in the yard and tried to grow one with a potato plant. You called him Randall and didn't speak to mother for _weeks_ when she accidentally used him to make mashed potatoes." She ignored Dante's startled cry of _"Hey! Randall was cool!". _Moron.

"When we were fourteen, you asked Sandra Matthews to Homecoming, and when she said no and laughed at you, you spent the next three days sleeping in a tree in the yard, refusing to come down with only 'Randall the 8th, esquire', to keep you company-" Oh, _that_ had been quite the fiasco in their life, she thought back humorously. It had eventually taken Vergil straight up cutting the branch Dante was sleeping on to get him to come down. Though it had led to Dante eventually giving up on his 'Randall' potato plant family; more's the pity, they were rather delicious.

"OKAY, okay! I get it, you _are _Vergil... somehow..." He cut her off, waving Ebony emphatically in the air, finally away from her face, his own face flushed red with embarrassment. So easily predictable, she smirked.

"There actually is a rather in-depth explanation I don't wish to bore you with, mostly as I'm still lacking clothing..." _That_ seemed to kick Dante's ass into gear, his brain now having moved her from the 'hot naked chick' category to 'this is my brother/sister and that's _weird'_ section. He all but ripped off his coat, kneeling down and throwing it around her, fastening it tight. Thankfully, he seemed to have gotten over his shirtless phase and was wearing a simple black shirt underneath it.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders, so much smaller now than his broad frame, and his earlier embarrassment was momentarily forgotten as she felt his firm grip, flinching slightly when he held on too tight.

"You're not going to shoot me? After all I did?" She wondered aloud, seeing him wince back slightly. It would be the least she deserved, raising the tower in the middle of the city; she didn't know the actual casualty count, but it had to be a significant number. Her personal kill count in her quest had been much smaller than most would have guessed, though she didn't know if was out respect for her late mother or something else. Only if they obstructed her path, was the general rule, and for the most part, being faced with Yamato's blade had caused nearly all of them to stand down.

Dante had always been the more morally sound of them, she supposed, in human terms. Oh, he was still cocky, an ass, and couldn't give two shits about any property damage, but there some sort of fondness in him regarding humanity. Neither of them fit in very well at all, but he'd always had more patience (compare her _very little_ to his _slightly more than a little) _for them than she had.

"Sorry..." he murmured, "I just... I never thought I'd see you again."

Oh. This wasn't the same immature brat she'd left behind, not entirely. It had only been six months, but he seemed to have aged so much in that short time, the look in his eyes almost haunted by her appearance. The once fragile bond between was like a steel chain, tethering them together, and for a moment, she couldn't remember why she'd clamped down so hard from her side to suffocate it. Longing, comfort, reassurance that she was really here and this was _really _Vergil came bleeding through, and for a moment, she paused.

Love. The thing Eva had believed so faithfully in, loving them as if they weren't demonic hellspawn sent to torment her and test her god-given patience as a mother. But she'd persevered, and, through sheer determination, made them into somewhat presentable beings. Well, Vergil had come out presentable. Dante was still a mangy slob. Mostly.

A mother's love, she thought, was fascinating.

Suddenly, Dante pulled her close, embracing her with his no longer identical body that she'd once been so familiar with. She could feel him inhaling the scent of her, burying his face into her hair; she knew what this was, a nestmate trying to familiarize himself with a sibling thought lost, and she couldn't even begrudge him for it. A soft sigh escaped her, and perhaps it was out of character to let him hold her so close, but in their youth they'd spend whatever time not fighting piled upon one another, always touching and leading each other by their hands, laughing.

They'd always fight, as was the way demon siblings simply _were_, but there would always be this as well.

She'd been incredibly stupid, she thought dully. But it felt nice to be held, a _welcome home _tittering between them. She burrowed further into his hold, trying to leech as much warmth as she could from him, before murmuring an almost inaudible whisper into his chest.

"I missed you too, Dante."

* * *

End Chapter Four

* * *

end notes: _"Libera te ex infernis." _essentially translates to "Free yourself from Hell" (if you were speaking to one person). And no, I didn't grab it specifically from Event Horizon, though a slightly different version of this phrase is said in that movie :)

I'm playing off a twin sibling bond between demons as being super intense, bordering on near telepathy if not empathy.

Next chapter will probably take a while (Lame, now that I've finally gotten to the real meat of the story), but I hope you guys have enjoyed it so far!


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